


Smell of Rain

by ArtemisBrown, Biliouskaiju



Series: Spoonful of Sugar [2]
Category: Disney - All Media Types, Mary Poppins (1964), Mary Poppins - All Media Types
Genre: Children, F/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisBrown/pseuds/ArtemisBrown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biliouskaiju/pseuds/Biliouskaiju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Practically perfect afternoons, and heartbreak.</p><p>(Sad Ending Option 1)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Things Linger

In the middle of a walkway, full of flowers which hung gracefully above in a gentle arch, Mary waited. There wasn’t much direct sunlight there, but she had her parasol open anyway. She had always liked the way she looked, with it resting on her shoulder. Her dress was a soft pink, made of silk and organza, draped loosely down her waist and ending at a mid-calf length. Her wide brimmed hat matched the white ribbon around her waist, and as usual, the daisy remained in the band. A light breeze rustled the leaves and flowers, and gently lifted her skirt just a bit. She smiled and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in a deep sigh. When she opened them, she finally spotted Bert, hurrying along toward her.

“There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever catch up.”

Bert was panting as he hurried to catch up, his suit a fine white linen this time that shone behind the bouquet of flowers clutched eagerly in his hands, “Sorry! ‘Ad to getcher these, obviously! There was a bit of a t'do wif’ a bunch of bees, but it got sorted right quick-” He laughed in embarrassment as he reached her side, offering them out excitedly.

Mary smiled broadly, and took them graciously. She cradled them in her free arm, and admired them for a moment, before looking back up at him. “Bert, they’re lovely. Certainly worth the wait.” She closed her parasol, and hooked it over the arm holding the flowers, finally offering him her free hand. As they started walking down the path, she glanced his way. “You know something? I think this may be your best work.”

“Yeah?” He beamed brightly, humming as the breeze swept past them, sweet and warm. They were going to a carnival that day, and the lights twinkled invitingly in the distance down the path. He was quite fond of all the fiddly bits he had managed to sneak in, and here the detail showed. “You say that every time, ahahaha!”

She tittered beside him, casting her eyes down. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps you simply improve with every scene you paint?” The lights caught her eyes, and she let out a light gasp in excitement. “They say practice makes perfect, but I say there’s always room for improvement.”

Bert blushed, plucking one of the flowers- a pinkish red that complimented her dress, and tucked it in his pocket next to her handkerchief. The rest of the bouquet suddenly burst into butterflies, fluttering around her in a cloud of color. “Well, I s'pose I’ve 'ad a lot of practice!” As the display distracted her, he leaned in to peck her cheek.

Mary jumped a bit, as the butterflies scattered around her, her mouth splitting into a wide grin. His lips brushed against her cheek then, catching her by surprise. She turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, and lips pursed, though there was a trace of a smile in the corners of her mouth. Her grip on his hand tightened, and she leaned in to return the favor. “There are a few other things that could always benefit from a bit of practice, you know.”

“Oh yeah? Like what, ez'actly?” He giggled, slipping his hand in her’s as they walked. She looked so lovely in the ebbing light of the afternoon, his heart could barely contain itself.

She stopped, and turned to fully face him, looking up at him coyly. “I’m sure you could make an educated guess.”

He gently leaned in to take her lips, a soft smile on his own as he leaned away playfully again after. “Practice makes perfect, huh?”

Mary’s eyes remained closed for a moment, when he pulled away. Finally, one lid opened for a moment, and she smiled. “Indeed.” She opened both of her eyes now, and continued on the way to the carnival at the end of the path, her hand, loose and comfortable in his. “We can always work on things a bit more later.”

“Aint no time like the present, tho, isser?” He laughed, suddenly scooping her up with a laugh to carry her down the path.

A delighted squeak escaped from her, as he quite literally swept her off her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck to keep herself steady, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. The sky had darkened, and a beautiful sunset of pink and orange painted the sky. “So what sort of carnival have you thought up this time?”

“All sortsa’ rides this time! Ins and outs an’ ups an’ downs!” He laughed, swinging her around as he staggered from the path and into the grass.

Mary giggled, despite herself, and clutched onto him tighter. “Bert! Careful, now!” When she looked back up from his chest, she saw what had to have been the nicest looking carnival she had ever seen. Everything was crisp white, and pale blue, with splashes of red. “Oh Bert, it’s… it’s simply lovely.”

Still laughing, he managed to twirl her back to her feet, taking her hand as he hurried down the last dip in the hill, “Just wait until you see it up close! Took a job at a carnival recently- lossa’ inspiration. Knew you’d love it!”

The fair was lively and fun, and they got to have it all to themselves. The rides didn’t need operators, and the attendants to the various games were relaxed and friendly. Finally, they made their way to the ferris wheel, where they stopped at the top to watch the sunset. He stole another kiss, and Mary rest her head on his shoulder contentedly. It was all so serene, and perfect, that her smile wavered just a bit as they left, trekking back up the hill they came from. She held his hand tight, as he animatedly described a recent adventure he’d had. She simply stared at him lovingly, just happy to be there with him, before looking up at the cloudless, darkened sky thoughtfully, and opening her parasol.

“So I said, hey, you DO know thassa’ Iguana, right? Hahahahaha!!” He reeled at his own joke, practically skipping as he offered her what remained of their funnel cake. “So I was finkin’, tonight we coul’ catch dinner at this loverly cafe just over the bend there, through that patcha’ trees there!”

Mary laughed right along with him, and took the last bite of funnel cake with her free hand, popping the treat into her mouth. “That sounds wonderful… Although I think it’s going to rain soon…” She trailed off, looking at the sky again. “There’s no harm in trying, though. If you’d like.”

“Or! Or we could stay here! Tha’s fine too. Anywhere wif’ you is perfect, Miss Poppins,” His smile grew a touch panicked as he took both of her hands in his, umbrella and all.

Mary smiled up at him regretfully for a moment, before raising onto her toes to kiss him. “We can do whatever you want to, my darling.”

Her lips were warm, and he drank her in just as the first raindrops hit her umbrella, sprinkling to his shoulders, and all around him he could see the colors running. “We’d 'ave steak an’ potatoes an’… and somfin’ fancy- fish eggs!” He whispered, voice trembling.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug, with her parasol still covering them. The color began to run off of the pink lace at the edges. “Next time.” She said simply. Before they could share another look, the color of her entire being began to run together in a blur.

Bert closed his eyes, feeling the rain soak through his jacket. When he opened them again, the water dripped from his soaked hair down to the colorful smear on the sidewalk between his ancient boots. The city honked it’s horns and revved it’s engines behind him, but he ignored it. He was waiting for the rain to wash the rest of the chalk away. How long had it been that time? He had lost track. Years didn’t feel the same any more, let alone hours or minutes, and it was all too difficult to concentrate on. Everything was muted, out here. The shrunken, dingy shell in its century-old suit, haggard with neglect, wasn’t him. Maybe it was time to move on again. The frequent rain of this city was a good fail safe, but what would the worst be if the chalk never faded? It wasn’t as though he could actually die, right?

He could be patient. He wasn’t ready to leave London, not just yet. He waited before… he could wait again. The skies would clear and he still had half a box of chalk left.


	2. Always a Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To give some context to this story, in my roleplay group, Yen Sid was the one responsible for Mary Poppins' immortality. 
> 
> Yen Sid was written by a fabulous friend of ours.

The weather was fair and mild- perfect for bringing in the laundry, which Mary was busying herself with at that moment. A gentle breeze disturbed the crisp linens, still hanging from the clothesline, and rolled down the hill to rustle the grass and flowers in the meadow below. Mary took a deep, pleased breath, as she folded a pillowcase. This was her favorite sort of weather: clear, blue skies, rustling grass, and the smell of rain carried from over the hilltops on a breeze. She found herself humming quietly, as she thought about the agenda for the rest of the day. After laundry, she would start dinner (a lovely roast she had picked up from the butcher, along with some potatoes, and a chocolate pound cake for dessert,) get the children ready for bed, and then she would have the rest of the evening to do as she pleased. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the children appraoch, promptly snapping her out of her contented trance. As they drew near, she saw immediately that they were each holding something. “What have the two of you got this time?”

Both children had dark hair, and bright eyes. Beatrice, the younger, at no more than three, jumped in first. “I brought flowers for dinner!”

Albert was a few years older, and a bit wiser than his sister (but not by much). “And I brought a frog!”

Mary chuckled at the two of them. The flowers Beatrice had picked were really edging more along the lines of pretty, if not slightly smushed weeds, and for some reason, that made Mary like them even more. “Those are lovely, dear. Would you put them on the table for me? And Albert, please put the frog back where you found it. He has a home of his own, and you can always play together by the stream.”

With that, the two of them ran in opposite directions, giggling all the way. Mary looked at the spot they had been in for a moment, happily, before returning to her task.

There soon came a bright, wavering whistle from the path, and the children both gave their own delighted squeals of joy. “Well, well, well! Looks like we’ve got an infestation!” Bert set his sack down as he slipped in the front door, grinning widely as he crouched before them with his hands hidden behind his back, “Whacher got there, Al?”

“A frog. Mum says I gotta’ go put im back in his home,” Albert pouted, but held the amphibian out for his father’s approval with excitement.

“‘Ow abouuuut, I tradeja?” His hands came around, holding a brightly colored kite and both children gasped. “Go ahead, I’ll join in a minute!”

He laughed as they momentarily fought over the new toy, but Al promised to show Bea how to fly it and both gave him a tight hug before hurrying outside.

Bert put the frog in his breast pocket.

Mary’s attention was snapped away from the sheet she was working on folding, at a sharp whistle. She smiled, quite involuntarily, and found herself hurrying. She finally finished the sheet, and practically threw it into the basket filled with clean linens. As she hurried to the house, the children almost bowled her over on their way back out, with a bright orange kite. Yes, their father was definitely home. It was immediately obvious, as she turned to see him standing in the doorway. For a moment, she just looked at him, eyes filled with a terrible amount of fondness for the man before her. Her expression changed to one of false haughtiness. “You’re late, you know. Just for that, you have to wait on your kiss hello, until after dinner.”

“After? Well, what if I sneak one in? I promise it won’t spoil me appetite!” He laughed, lifting her to give her a spin enthusiastically.

Her expression broke into a grin, and she held on tight, always loving the feel of being in his arms. As he slowed to a stop, she looked at him sternly again before kissing him on the nose. “I missed you while you were out.”

“Gotta’ put bread on the table somehows!” He laughed, setting her down gently to lean in and catch her lips properly. His pocket suddenly gave a surprised croak, and he pulled back with a fresh laugh.

She looked at his pocket with her lips pursed, before reaching inside and pulling out the fat frog from earlier. Her eyes moved warily between the frog, and her husband, before walking toward the stream to put it back. Once she was done, she passed him again on the way to the house. “I’m going to start dinner. Why don’t you spend some time with the children, while I work, hm?” After a quick peck on his cheek, she walked inside.

He laughed, leaning in to nab one more kiss before she whisked away, “I just got back, an’ already you’re gettin’ rid o’ me again?”

She suppressed a smile and slowed as she walked through the doorway, casting a suggestive look his way. With a smug air, she turned her nose up and continued on to the kitchen.

He sagged with a sigh, but his smile never wavered, but was far from unhappy about turning to catch up with the children who seemed to be having trouble getting their new toy aloft. They had all the time in the world- he could wait until after supper.

The pleasant weather continued on into the evening. As the sky darkened, Mary appeared in the doorway again and called the three of them in for dinner. After a nice meal and a bit of family time, she got the children bathed, and put them to bed with near no trouble. They got their kisses goodnight, and before she knew it, the day was over. She made her way outside to sit on the porch swing with her knitting. Another warm breeze blew by, and she smiled. “I was thinking about leaving the windows open tonight.” Bert was out of sight at that moment, but she knew he was close.

“Mmm, it is loverly out again, aint it?” He closed the door gently so as to not disturb the little ones. He sat beside her, rolling a cigarette as he beamed quietly at her. “You look beautiful as ever tonight.”

As he sat beside her, she inched closer, touching her elbow to his. He had called her beautiful many times, and it still made her blush and avert her eyes. She set her knitting aside, and looked at him, as he finished his task. Watching him roll cigarettes was always a bit fun for her, just like watching him draw, or make kites. His fingers were nimble, and careful, almost like a clock maker’s. When he finished lighting up, she nudged him. “I love you.”

He hesitated for a moment, eyes locked with her’s as his mind seemed to sludge through some deep thought before his mouth twisted in a wide smile, free hand sliding across her’s to entwine their fingers. To hear those words from her lips, so candidly, so truthfully, his chest ached, “I love you so much.”

She smiled broadly back at him. Mary knew how lucky they were, how amazing it was that they created this life together. He had given up so much, and worked so hard for them to get to this place, and she would never forget it. She moved his arm around her shoulders, and kissed him for a lengthy moment, fully, and with deep love and affection. He let the cigarette drop into its can to free up his hands to wrap around her waist, drinking in her lips and warmth in the cool breeze.

When she pulled away, she murmured, “I wanted to do that earlier, but I had already told you that you had to wait.”

“And… and you’re happy here?” He whispered, the smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth hopefully.

Mary wrapped her own arms around his torso. Not that she had ever been one to particularly feel unsafe, but with him, it gave her a sense of inner peace that she knew quite well was unachievable on her own. Her lips hovered over his, as he asked his question, and she answered without hesitation. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” She hugged him close again for a moment, and pressed a kiss to his neck.

His careful fingers followed the line of her shoulder, gentle against her neck as he found her hairpin, carefully plucking it out to send those dark curls tumbling.

She pulled back at the touch, her eyebrows raised. After a near unnoticeable glance to his lips, she looked back to his eyes. “I think it’s time for bed, don’t you?”

“That I definitely agree,” He whispered with a soft smile, and they crept quietly toward their room followed by soft giggles and whispered nothings.

* * *

 

The morning came soon enough, although not TOO soon, and the house was filled with the morning squeals and laughter of getting the children ready for school.

Mary set bowls of grits with fried eggs on top in front of everyone at the table, beside a plate of fruit and honey. As they ate, Mary sat beside Bea, braiding her hair. “Hurry and eat, Albert. You don’t want to be late for school now.” As she worked, she cast a glance at Bert, and smiled. When she caught his eye, she mouthed “I love you”, and turned back to what she was doing.

Far off, though perhaps not too far in truth, rain clouds were brewing over an otherwise perfect, picturesque world. Rain is a generally natural, welcome occurrence to these sort of things now and again– But this rain carried something else along with it. The air of old books, perhaps, or the smell of forest fires long faded, the musty nature of earthy corners of the world old and forgotten, a tinge of regret, of despair.

More importantly, however, it carried a man. He was not much of one now if we are honest- Old but proud, tall and vain in his slight bend of back that had exaggerated over the years. His dark cloak and furrowed brow betrayed the tempest of his moods, as though he had bought the storm itself–

And perhaps he had.

Yen Sid, bowed from years past, old spells, and cramped nights laboring over problems he had never managed to solve, of which he no longer wished to speak, moved forward. His step was both hindered and aided by a curled stick, the top crudely carved but covered by a gnarled hand, spotty with age. It was only recently he had succumbed to the visual, physical ailments he had long denied–

And it was this, along with the problems, that carried him and his tempest to the meadows, through the flowers, and all at once beneath an orange kite in a sky that stayed unnervingly blue around him. The tempest was distant; he has not wanted to bring it here: Not now.

He swallowed and looked skyward to the kite, then swiftly away. His hand shook over the stick, and his other clenched at his side as he muttered bitterly to himself, "’S gone too far, this time…"

He gave the kite one long, last flickering glance and blinked hard, swallowed harder, and steeled himself for the walk to the cozy home beyond, feeling and looking very much out of place as he went.

Yen Sid lifted his hand to knock, and as he did so, he secretly hoped his knuckles would not land…

At the knock, Bert was distracted from his breakfast, brows furrowed. “Aint s'posed to 'ave company today… You expectin’ someone, darling?” Something in the back of his head knew, but the rest of him insisted on obliviousness.

Mary looked puzzled herself, stopping her task for a moment, as she looked toward the door. “Not today, no. I never have company this early.” She quickly finished the braid, tying it off with a pink ribbon, and stood up to answer the door.

When she opened it, she looked puzzled for just a moment, before her expression changed to one of familiarity, and almost happiness. “Yen Sid. It has been too long.”

Yen Sid gripped the cane tightly, and forced himself to swallow. His voice creaked as though it were a book opening after years upon years of disuse, and he seemed to taste dust in his own mouth as he managed only: "Mary.“ 

He stared at her, almost unfocused, then steeled his jaw shut and his brow furrowed. He grunted, though his heart was not in it, and he seemed to lean more weight onto the stick. He spoke slowly, as though to a child: "You’re going to let me in, then? It has been-” He paused momentarily, looking away vaguely, and muttered, “A long road. I am an old man, after all." He bit back a slight smile, then forced it away with a grunt. He rattled the stick at her, and raised his voice. "Your doorframe’s got a bit of paint missin’ around the corner.”

She smiled gently, and nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll put the kettle on.” She gestured him inside, and bustled to get a comfy chair for him. Mary set it up beside the table, and, as promised, got some tea brewing. “I’m terribly sorry, but you seem to have caught us in the middle of breakfast. Would you like something to eat?”

“Yen? Yen Sid??” Bert perked up immediately as he set his coffee down, rising to help the old man into the chair, “It’s been too long!”

Albert gave a curious scowl, “Daddy, who’s this?”

“An old friend of your mother and mine!” He explained patiently, still smiling cheerfully.

“Old is right.”

“Albert, manners!” Bert laughed, giving the boy a playful rub of his hair.

Yen froze momentarily, and slowly glanced to the young boy. His lips thinned and he nodded, muttering, "Yes, yes, very old.“

He clattered into the house, seeming determined to make as much noise as possible. His stick shot out and tapped Mary’s foot, then the side table, a door frame, a wall, the table leg, a left out toy across the floor. Staring intently at mantle, he stopped to squint in the center of the room and announced, though flatly and without feeling. "What a lovely home.”

Before casting himself into a chair without so much as a thank you or a yes, please, I would love breakfast, I enjoy what you’ve done with the curtains, or anything, he just creaked and glared, and shook his stick irately at things, as though he was determined to smack everything within reach, probably just for virtue of all of it belong to Bert.

The clock chimed, drawing Mary’s attention away from the tea. She hurried down the hall for a moment, returning with a rucksack. “Albert, you best be off to school.” She grabbed a wrapped up lunch off of the counter, and handed it to him. She crouched down. “Have a good day. Study hard, dear.” He kissed her on the cheek, gave his father a peck, and ran out the door.

“Bye mum, bye dad!”

Mary frowned over at Yen, who was still smacking all of their belongings with his walking stick. She had known him for a long time, and learned to overlook his behavior, for the most part, but she wasn’t altogether pleased with the way he was acting in front of her daughter.

Beatrice had just about finished breakfast, and Mary found herself ushering the little one away from the table, whispering. “Why don’t you go wait in your room and read, darling.”

“But I want to meet the old man.”

“Maybe later. Would you leave your father and I alone for a little while?”

A bit disheartened, Bea did as she was told, but not without pouting all the way. Mary sighed, and returned, her hands on her hips. “Would you kindly stop trying to bash the leg off of our kitchen table?”

“Nope." Yen smacked it again, and leveled a look at Mary.

He then hit it a second time, for good measure: It remained a table leg.

If Yen’s visit seemed to bother Bert, he made no outward gesture beyond politely clearing his throat, "So er… w-what brings you here, then? Your tea’s getting cold, sir.”

Yen glanced to the teacup, and sniffed. He regarded it warily for a long moment, before a spindly hand reached out and snatched it. Cradling the cup slightly, Yen drained it in a moment, then scowled and slapped it back onto the table with disdain, and grunted, "Thank you, Bert.“ He paused, then wiped off his beard and glanced at Mary. He grumbled, "A very good cup, actually.”

“Mary prepares the best!” Bert reached out to catch her wrist, smiling softly.

She stopped at his touch, and grinned, leaning down to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you, darling.” Mary came to rest behind her husband, hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently. “But I find myself to be curious too, Yen. You don’t venture out for visits often. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Yen took a rattling breath and murmured low into his chest, avoiding looking up, "Felt it was time for a visit.“ There was a pause before he moved the walking stick aside, and folded his hands in his lap. He had not let Bert’s grip go unnoticed, and murmured, "You’ll bruise her if you hold that tight, lad.” He looked up to see her behind him, and an unwanted grimace flickered across his features. He cleared his throat, and managed to ask, "M-“ He hated the way his voice croaked over the word: "Mary? -Would you fetch an old friend a blanket?”

Bert hesitated, but his smile remained, softening slightly as he finally let go, patting her hand as his left hers.

Mary nodded. “Certainly. We must keep those old bones warm.” She left the room, heading toward the back of the house.

Yen watched her go with a tinge of fondness to the corners of his eyes– Indeed, he watched her for a moment longer than usual. He cleared his eyes when she left, and then rose, hand grasping and obscuring the carving on top of the wizened stick. He cleared his throat, and murmured, "Bert…“

"Done wif’ your tea?” Bert had nervously moved to scoop up the cup and saucer, ready to pop them by the sink. Just a normal visit from a normal old friend. These things happened.

“Mm,” Yen murmured, but rather than returning them to Bert’s hands, he held up the saucer. His voice was hushed, “Such fine detailing.”

His right hand dipped down and wrapped into a corner of his robe, and he breathed on the china for a moment, letting it shine with the fog of his breath. Outside, distant, thunder rumbled. He lifted the corner of his robe with one hand, then wiped it across the plate with another, his eyes growing sad as he murmured softly, his breath and voice filling the space lowly that, once active, now seemed as silent and echoing as any cave. "It’s such a pity it all wipes away so soon.“

Bert’s breathing quickened, his hand suddenly clamping on Yen’s, the cheery morning light dimming with the encroaching clouds and something more.  "I… I… I’m not sure what you’re talkin’ about! Ahaha, s'good China, that. Got all them glazes and the like what makes it fancy,” He babbled, reaching to try to grab the cup from the old man’s hands if necessary.

Yen raised the cup and eyed it with care– He was clearly not ready to relinquish it, nor the saucer to Bert’s care. His whiskers twitched and the old gleam in his eyes faded slightly– He seemed to sink into himself as he exhaled, and then whispered the hem of his robe across the embroidered designs–

Where they, and the cup, faded to a gray, lifeless concrete in an instant. A smear of the world long left behind, dark and marred across the bright and jovial plane he had wandered to. He looked up quietly, "Rain is coming, Bert. Not just here. Nor– nor there.“ He indicated the marring with a soft flicker of his eyes, but moved his hand off the top of his staff, and pointed it to Bert’s chest. The weathered old parrot head had seen far, far better days, and the attachment itself was a crude recapture of a reality long faded. The paint was chipped and the eyes closed, but it rested on Bert’s breastbone with all the same heaviness, and Yen murmured, "But there, m'lad.”

A tremble came to Bert’s hands and shoulders, as well as his lips. Panic was sinking in, and the colors in the room flickered for just a moment, shifting slightly as he jerked back from the parrot as though it burned. “Please- Please don’t…” He found his voice, weak and wavering, “Please just… just go. We’re… we're fine 'ere. We're 'appy 'ere…”

Yen pulled back and his tone softened slightly, “My boy-” He cleared his throat before continuing, finding he had now a lump in it where previously it had been quite clear. Must be getting older… “I can’t. You know I can’t.” His lips pressed together and he looked distinctly uncomfortable. Both hands gripped the staff and his shoulders bunched– He found himself in the rare position of looking at his own feet, avoiding Bert’s eyes. He hadn’t done that since–

…No, it wouldn’t do to dwell. He ahemed softly, and looked up again, steeling his nerve. "I won’t trouble you with how long it took to find you. You’ve managed to– To hide away quite well. Even my best detections only came back with fake flowers, pieces of instruments, bits of songs.“ He shook his head, "It was quite clever. But– Bert, it’s been..”

He found himself struggling with the words in the face of the lace curtains on the window, the table cloth, the matching tea set, the shoes– Such little shoes! – but the door. Worst of all, their hats on pegs, the nooks and crannies, all clear of dust and the whole house warm. He wanted for the first time in a long time to shrink down, to leave and retreat to his cold castle, back to what he knew–

He just wasn’t sure anything was at all what he knew anymore to start with.

Bert fidgeted, eyes closed as he tried to regain his own composure, and the colors in the room brightened again warmly, the clouds outside pushed back by a strong burst of sunshine attempting to burn it away.

“If… you wanted t'stay a while…” He finally seemed to come to a conclusion, “M'sure the lads an’ I could find you a place-” His smile returned, happily, as though nothing had just happened between them.

Yen looked up at the window in alarm, and blinked. That was– That was unusual. He didn’t care for unusual things– Heavens knew how long he had managed to get along with Mary and Bert, but here he was anyway, in this unusual house with its… unusual, sad, reminding things.

Steeling himself, he shook his head and stamped his foot– He pulled it back and revealed a cleared section of floor, and announced, “No. I cannot. Nor can you.”

Bert laughed, “Don’t be silly. We can't move. Aint practical wif’ the wee ones.” He quickly became busy with the dishes.

Yen’s hands tightened around the staff and he puffed up his chest, frowning,

“Bert– Please don’t make me do this the difficult way. I’d really rather not. You know why I’m here!”

“Can’t say I do, not sp'sifically.” He took great care in how he dried the plates before stacking them neatly.

Mary returned then, carrying a couple blankets. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred something light, or a quilt, so I brought both.” She cast a glance to Bert, hunched over the sink. After depositing the blankets on the chair next to Yen, she hurried to his side. “Darling, let me take care of that.”

“It’s no bother, love!” He laughed breathily, leaning in to catch her cheek with a kiss. “Bea doin’ alright?”

She smiled, as his lips met her cheek, and she gave him a playful look. “She’s just fine. When I looked in on her, she was reading Mrs. Tiddlemouse to her teddy.” Mary looked at Yen Sid again, and made her way to the chair next to him. “Our daughter, Beatrice, is so smart, Yen. Only three-years-old, and she’s gotten quite good at reading.”

Yen tensed and found himself grasping the back of a chair tightly. It felt solid beneath his hand but he couldn’t be certain– not here, not with her. Instead, he fumbled over his words uselessly, “Beatrice. Oh- Good." He swallowed, and tried again, "B-Bert– May I speak to Mary?”

The man of the house took a moment with the dishes, finishing them up for a moment before smiling at his old friend, “O'course!” Why would there be cause for concern? He knew how much her friendship with the funny old wizard meant to her. Might be good for them to catch up. “I’ll go pop in and see what Mrs. Tiddlemouse is up to.” He tossed the damp towel over his shoulder, catching Mary’s hand as he walked passed to gently lean in for another kiss. As he left, he was humming.

Mary gave his hand a squeeze, and lingered on his lips perhaps a moment longer than was appropriate with company present. She had never been one to particularly care about those things anyway. The important thing was that she was happy here. This was the life she had been pining for all those years she was trapped in an immortal form, and now she had it.

Her eyes stayed on Bert until he disappeared around the corner, before she finally looked back at Yen. “What’s on your mind?”

Yen cleared his throat and met her eye dubiously. His brow raised and his curiosity compelled him to ask, carefully, “How– Long has it been, exactly?”

Mary looked at him for a moment. “…Since I saw you last?”

Yen raised a brow, but only nodded and murmured, “Yes. Since– Then.”

She folded her hands in her lap, thinking. “Well, it was before we moved here. Close to ten years, I believe.” She smiled. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited. The children make it difficult to leave.”

Yen nodded and eyed the hallway with suspicion, and grunted. He set down the saucer with a soft clatter, and the remaining half of the teacup. Loudly, he grumbled, “I imagine it’s moren’ that making it difficult, Mary.”

Mary eyed the teacup for a moment, seemingly lost in a thought she couldn’t quite verbalize. She looked back at him, an eyebrow raised. “Yes, I suppose I don’t relish the thought of leaving Bert behind either.”

Yen shifted, and cleared his throat. He cast a look out the window, and murmured, “Mary–” He shut his eyes, and sighed, withering and shaken. He swallowed. "You already have.“

Her expression grew blank for a moment, and then her brows furrowed. She was taken then with a strange sense of protectiveness. Whatever he was suggesting, she didn’t like it. And she especially didn’t appreciate the feeling she got from all of this. A nagging feeling that this would ruin everything. Firmly, and quietly, she spoke. "I think you should leave.”

Shifting, the old man looked and felt ages older– Well, perhaps ages more accurate. He looked at Mary for a long time, then slowly shook his head, his voice holding a tremble he’d been fighting since he arrived and saw the verdant green of the fields, the tumbling clouds in the sky, the threads of kites.

“I can’t. I can’t, Mary– Or whatever you may be now– If,” He swallowed and forced some strength back into his voice, his hands covering the parrot, seeking some inner strength he had long lost, “If I go now, it’ll only get worse. Mary,”

His voice cracked and shattered, falling beneath a whisper, “Oh, Mary. My dearest– My dear friend,” The words thickened and the old man had to duck his head and wipe at his eyes quickly with a trembling fist, curled in on itself tightly, as he looked up hard and whispered, “You passed. Y-years ago. I wouldn’t have this otherwise–”

He lifted the parrot headed staff, and offered it forward gently. His lips thinned shut and he murmured thickly, “I did everything I could…” He glanced around the room quietly, and shook his head, “But it wasn’t enough. No– No. It’s never enough.”

She maintained a firm expression, though it faltered as his voice did. Her eyes became downcast, the more he spoke- the more he explained. Without looking back up at him, she took hold of the staff, examining the worn parrot head. She knew it quite well. The shape of the beak, the oddly noble expression, the ridges of the carved feathers… every inch, she had memorized. But Mary knew that she had never held it before. Somberly, she spoke. “I know.”

Yen looked up sharply, and a hint of his own old self returned with a sudden spark, and he yelped, snatching back the cane and pointing it at her quickly. “What! Do you mean!” He flailed it, and then stamped one foot, and scowled, hissing lowly. “You know!”

Mary set the staff on the table, and neatly folded her hands in her lap. Her eyes were devastatingly sad now. “Of course I know. I am a piece of his own subconscious, am I not? Being Mary Poppins, I’m simply more aware than others you might encounter here.” She said all of this firmly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Suddenly, she looked back to him. “Please leave. Bert is happy here in a way that he could never hope to achieve out there. He’s tried, and found only misery.”

“If,” Yen’s voice lowered, now with a tinge of anger to it trembling faintly as he spoke, “You were really Mary, you wouldn’ let him live like this. Not alone. And he is alone-” He moved his hand across the table behind him, clearing it. His eyes narrowed, “Whether he believes it or not.”

Mary frowned at the blank space where table used to be. “I will never really be her…” She didn’t like to acknowledge it, but she had always been aware. “I simply want him to be happy.”

Yen swallowed hard and frowned deeply. Exhaling noisily, he nodded, and murmured, “That’s an admirable thing, truly. But is a false happiness any better?" He looked around and murmured, "There is no substance here. No food, no real light. Does he truly hold a person? Can he feel the sunlight? The breeze? What sort of life– Long lasting or not– for a man?”

“So I was finkin’! If you’d like to stay for supper, we could swing by the market for sommin’! Comin’ all this way and all, we should have somefin’ nice!” Bert was grinning as he popped back down the hall to the kitchen. There was a flower tucked into the button of his shirt.

Mary cast only the briefest of glances to him before turning away again. She wasn’t real. She would never be real. But she still felt just as much as any normal person would, and just then, she couldn’t bear to look at him. It made her chest ache.

Yen cleared his throat, and glanced between the two, then murmured, "Yes. Certainly, Bert. That sounds lovely.“

"Wonderful! It’s been a long time since we’ve 'ad company over-” He frowned, wobbling in place a moment, “Where’d the table go?”

Yen glanced to Mary, and shrugged bodily. He cleared his throat,

“Er.”

There was a pause.

“…Raccoons?” He suggested.

He didn’t quite want to bring it up. Not with her there. Not– Not when he was so  _actively_  happy.

Mary sighed deeply, and turned to Bert, smiling once more. “Why don’t the two of you go? I’ll stay here with Bea and get some chores done, hm?” She stood up, kissed him on the cheek, and disappeared down the hallway once more.

“I know you’ve come a long way… you up for the walk, then?” Bert offered an arm for his elderly friend.

Yen Sid cleared his throat, but nodded, forcing a weak smile, “Certainly, mm. Yes. I’m sure it’s not too far, now?” He glanced down the road and squinted. He hadn’t walked past a market, but lord knew Bert has probably squeezed it in somewhere. Probably on the head of a pin or something.

Bert gave Mary one more soft kiss against her cheek before snatching his hat and coat and head out the door, “We’ll be back in a jiff!”

He was humming as they walked, seemingly oblivious to the dark clouds that hung in a threatening circle around them.

Yen shuffled after him, shutting the door behind them quickly. His hand brushed over the lock and he felt a twinge of guilt as he wiped the dust across his robes. They were already dusty- Perhaps he wouldn’t notice.

Eyeing the clouds, Yen drew slightly closer to Bert and cleared his throat, “Looks like rain.”

“It don’t rain here,” Bert retorted simply.

“No, of course not.” Yen frowned slightly. The road was so... smooth. No potholes or stones, not a thing to fret over– Largely. Aside from the obvious.

“In the fall, those trees turn all sorts of loverly reds and yellows, you’d love it!” He gestured beside them, quite enjoying the view as he walked, just like every day.

“Oh! I’m- I’m sure.” Yen eyed a tree suspiciously. He was half-sure it winked at him, so he walked faster.

“'Ow long DO y'plan t'stay?” Several squirrels bounced along at their feet, eyeing Yen suspiciously. Bert seemed oblivious.

Yen nudged a squirrel away and shrugged. If he’d had pockets and the ability to balance while walking with his hands in them, that's where they’d have been. Instead, he hobbled alongside Bert and shrugged, “Oh- Not... not too long, I’d think. Things to be done, y'know. Very busy, being immortal.” He glanced over quickly, guiltily.

“Wif what? Passin’ out curses an’ minglin’ wif’ the common folk?”

“Precisely,” Yen snipped, and huffed, “And I knit.”

“I never been good wif’ knitting. Tried to make 'er a scarf once- was more of a blanket toward the end, I kept loosing count of me threads ahaha!” The squirrels seemed to relax slightly, keeping a few feet distance, but still hopping along the path along with them.

“Well, perhaps it was just a… large scarf.” He cleared his throat and mused on this, then shrugged, “And those can be… nice. Aherm.”

“It were the thought that counted, right?” He gave Yen a wink before brightening up, “Ah, there it is-!” Just around the bend, tucked behind the trees was a small town. It had all the basic necessities- a baker, a butcher, a grocer, a dress shop and a few others, and little houses peppered the countryside beyond.

Yen nodded absently and made a soft “hmm” noise as they went. He eyed the town with great suspicion and grumbled as they wandered closer. He thought he could smell bread, but attributed it only to his mind playing tricks, as it was quite want to do as of late.

He’d woken one afternoon in his study and thought it was much… earlier in time than it had been. He had spent an hour looking for someone he knew once- and found himself quite alone. The situation had not been pleasant, nor was the remembering. He drew his cloak closer and glanced to Bert–

It had been, he considered, a warning.

Bert continued to babble merrily as they walked, pointing out a cafe they liked to go to, a shop that sold funny hats and jams, which he thought was a possibly disastrous combination, but the old couple who owned it were both quite sweet and talented at what they did, explaining why he much preferred carousel horses to proper horses as they passed a smith, all the while either oblivious or purposefully ignoring his companion’s growing silence.

Listening half-heartedly, Yen nodded along politely and made throaty “mmm” noises as they went. He eyed the hat and the jam store and grunted vaguely at the shop owners, though he was tempted by a jaunty orange cap sitting off to the side of a mannequin. He reminded himself, sternly, that none of this was substantial, and they went on.

“So what would you prefer? The fish’s fresh from the river, or they got some great beef and chicken… Oh, we could 'ave boiled red cabbage an’ yorkshire puddings! Mary made a roast yesterday, but we could 'ave steaks, maybe…”

Yen’s brows rose, and he sniffed, pulling his cloak tight. He rolled the ideas around and decided it probably wouldn’t matter– But he still ought to chose.

Could he actually have any, he suspected he’d go first for the chicken. He cleared his throat, “Chicken sounds… fine.”

“Chicken it is… we still have some fat left over from yesterday for the puddings! I know, I know, they’re best with beef, but I jes’ been cravin’ 'em.” Bert laughed, and headed toward the butcher’s.

Yen glanced over and wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t fond of pudding but he looked so damned happy. Mary– Well, not-Mary had had a point, but..

He paused, and sighed in the middle of the road. Rubbing his temples, he said finally, flatly: “Bert, can you crave something you haven’t got?”

Bert laughed, brows furrowing, “Wossat mean? I take a few minutes wif’ riddles-” He tried to work it out, mouth moving silently as he went through the possibility for a punchline.

Yen agreed, deadpanning, “Yes, you do.”

He stepped beside him and sighed, taking the hem of his robe and running it across the cobbled path. A vast nothing rose up beneath, and Yen glanced up carefully, “Bert,” He said, as gently and softly as he could manage, “None of this– Is, ah. Here.”

As soon as he noticed what Yen had done, Bert’s expression contorted, “Don’t! I said don’t!” He snapped, and immediately snatched up a handful of flowers from beside the road, crouching down to frantically scribble color back into the area of nothingness.

Yen did not move his foot, but went still. He watched quietly, and then asked, “Why not?”

“BECAUSE.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Bert!” Yen snapped and pointed the staff at him directly, “That is not an answer! You know she wouldn’t have let you just go one with 'because!’ And don’t think I will, either! Because I won’t!”

Bert said nothing, concentrating on patching the drawing, his breathing slow, methodic eyes locked on his work. That was all the answer he cared to give on the subject, but for Yen’s sake, he added a soft, “There. Just. Just move your foot a bit to the left there-”

“I don’t think I shall,” Yen breathed, and held his foot down firmly. “In fact-” He moved it opposite, and erased as he went, gaze hardening. His voice was as firm as he dared make it, “Bert. Stand up.”

“I I s-said STOP!” Bert gasped, flinching as the foot was moved, and more road smeared.

Yen swallowed, and whispered, “I can’t. I can’t let you stay here- It isn’t right, my boy.”

The ex-screever remained on his knees, whimpering quietly under his breath as he frantically tried to fill in the larger hole in the drawing, panic trembling through him, making his strokes stiff and erratic.

“Bert-”

Yen knelt and grimaced, stifling a gasp through his teeth as he struggling downward- His hands sought for purchase, and found one against Bert’s hand as it swept across the ground. The lines looked almost architectural, and Yen would have been impressed had they not been so jagged, so stilted and bare against the rest of the world and the encroaching storm. He tried to keep his voice level, with varying degrees of success, “Please— Please stop. For a moment. Listen, now, truly listen.”

He fought his aching chest and continued, steady as he dared, knuckles white on the hand that kept him grounded, “Can you hear anything? Anything at all? Listen true, now.”

Bert was breathing quicker now, but hesitated when Yen stopped his hand. His ears burned. Birds, he thought. The sounds of the village. Safe happy sounds of the life he had built. The wind in the trees.

The smell of rain on flowers.

“I hear a storm coming,” Yen spoke ragged and soft and shook his head. “No more.”

His breathing quickened, eyes wide in terror as they turned up to Yen’s face, then stiffly out to the sky. He swallowed, finding his voice weak in his throat, “Mary…” He swayed to his feet again like a drunk before breaking into a run back up the road.

Mary, meanwhile, was back at the table to Bea, having a tea party with Mr. Rabbit and Madame Mouse. It was all in good fun, of course, but she also liked to use these opportunities to teach her daughter proper manners. “Steady with the teapot, dear. That’s it.”

“Cream and sugar?”

“Yes please, dear, thank you.” As they played, she found herself repeatedly glancing at the clock, and fighting the urge to tap her heel. The sooner the old wizard left, the better. What he had said earlier stuck with her unpleasantly, but she knew this was better, in the long run. Self-preservation. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and in came Bert, looking flushed and afraid. “Darling? What’s the matter?”

“Getcher coat. Take Bea we… we… we gotta’ go. We just… there’s gotta’ be somewhere…” He babbled frantically, grabbing her arm in panic.

Bea looked between them, confused and upset. “Papa?”

Mary touched her head soothingly for a moment, before looking back to him. She spoke lowly. “Go where? What about Albert?”

“Oh– Bugger.” The old man was wheezing, fighting his way up a road that stretched long before him. He had been going as quickly as he could before spots had gathered in his eyes and he’d stumbled to his knees-

He’d sat by the road trying to breathe and not to yell after the retreating figure, but he could barely catch himself as it was. If he yelled any, he’d black out and heaven knew he probably couldn’t get away from the chalk world if that happened. As it was, he wasn’t sure if he stood any chance of returning to Bert at all.

He gripped the staff and struggled to stand, gritting his teeth. His knuckles were white and his knees were sore- Each step forward as a surge he wasn’t sure he had in him.

Fire crackled around his shoulders as his eyes narrowed, and he stopped, breath wheezing but forced between his lips, “What are you doing?! You’re a wizard-!”

He wasn’t sure if it’d work. He wasn’t sure if this world or Bert’s magic or Mary’s, whoever was running the show now, would let him, but-

He lifted the stick and drove it into the dirt. A whirl of dust surrounded him, then into the air, a spectrum of colors in a large butterfly-

He collapsed into the door of the cabin with a loud, ungraceful thud, a thin trickle of blood from his nose. He laughed through it to himself, spraying the door frame as he fought to stand and failed. “Hah! HAH! I– I’ve still– Got it.”

He blinked hard, forcing away the shadows that crept at the edge of his vision, and scowled furiously.

“Albert-” Bert was gasping in panic, “We… we 'ave to go back for him- and… and we’ll… we’ll go- we’ll..” Go where? Rain was coming. Rain was coming and Yen had brought it, and he couldn’t stop it. He could smell it on the wind, hear it rumble ever closer, see it in the darkening skies. Even the colors of the house had become cooler, sharper, contorted in his panic. It was all he could do to throw his arms around his wife, burying his face in her hair as the heavy thud landed.

Mary just looked at him, distraught, and feeling more terrified by the second. “Bert, please tell me what’s wrong!” She winced hard at the thud, and felt immediately grateful as his arms wrapped around her protectively. She held him back, reaching one arm out to pull their daughter into the group.

Managing to stand, head and heart both pounding, Yen lifted a trembling fist to knock on the door, jaw squared. He was determined to get in, even if he had to blast down the door– And he hoped he didn’t– But he was going to at least show a little courtesy about it.

“It’s… it’s going to be alright,” Bert crouched down to suddenly hug Bea, almost too tightly. Up to Mary, his expression turned manic and marginally furious, “Don’t open the door.”

Mary felt her stomach drop. She had seen Bert in all sorts of states, but he was never one to express such anger. She glanced between him and the door, a strange calm coming over her. “It’s Yen, isn’t it? He thinks it’s time.”

Yen snapped at the door, irate and tired, “It is time, thank you!”

Albert… Albert was at school- how would he go find him, how could he get out, where could they go that Yen couldn’t follow. He rocked Bea gently, breathing quicker.

She looked on, as her husband seemed to crumble. She felt near tears. It made her eyes sting. Her face contorted with sadness, as she pulled him to his feet. “Darling… darling, it’s alright.” Mary pulled him into a kiss then with much the same passion as the previous night. But this time, there was a sense of desperation, and sorrow. Her eyes shone clearly with tears as she pulled away. Tenderly, she touched a hand to his cheek. “It will be alright.” She turned from him then, moving toward the door.

“Mary, don’t-” He managed to breath once he realized what she was doing.

Biting her lip hard, to keep her composure, she opened the door.

Yen straightened slowly and looked up at the door, expectant and quiet. He had managed a forced sort of calm, and exhaled, counting to ten slowly. He couldn’t be angry, even if he wanted to– If he was angry it would overwhelm, and it would erase all the-

Why did it have to be her who opened the door?

He almost stumbled back, but swallowed hard and nodded quietly, voice soft. He murmured, “I am sorry.”

Tears spilling down her cheeks, she nodded stiffly in understanding, and stepped aside to let him in.

“Thank you,” Murmured Yen, and his hand passed over hers, trying to reassure. It patted, but did not erase– Not yet. Not yet.

He stood in the doorway briefly, but stepped forward with care and shut his eyes as he crossed the threshold. He couldn’t look at the child, never mind Mary, and God forbid, Bert. He breathed shakily and lifted his head, eyes opening slowly. He parsed out the growing shadows, the angles, and murmured, “Bert, it’s- It’s been too long. You can’t continue this way.” His voice rose and broke, “She would weep.”

“We… we were just FINE until you came- this… this… this is nonayer CONCERN!” Bert finally snarled, carefully handing Bea over to Mary as he crossed the room, grabbing a carrot from the countertop and a hunk of charcoal from the hearth in quick, furious motions.

Yen blinked at the carrot, but the charcoal made his stomach crawl. He swallowed, and his eyes narrowed,

“That’s where you’re wrong, m'lad-” He shook his head, “She would have wanted my concern. Wouldn’t have wanted me to leave you–”

His shoulders fell, and murmured, “But I was a fool. I was selfish and cold. I couldn’t handle– I couldn’t, when she left. I felt I had to go away, had to hide. I was afraid of a world without her.” He lifted his head and spoke a little louder, “And it seems I was rightly so.”

Somewhere, deep down, Bert knew that Yen was right- of course he was right, but the rest of him desperately clung to what he had built, what he had nurtured and grown here. They had their life together, finally. They had all they had ever dreamed about, he had ever wanted- they were happy here together, and he would fight to keep it that way. His breathing quickened. It was just a matter of moving the chalk around. This world was HIS world. And HE would decide when it would wash away- never. He had been far too careful, spent far too long- with a strangled snarl, he dropped to the floor, dragging the carrot across the floorboards in various swirling curls of color.

No sooner had the charcoal left its stripes, the massive cats stretched their tense muscles, extended their claws, and turned their eyes on the old man.

“I… I… I… I asked politely. I warned you politely. I… I even… even offered you 'ospitality,” He wobbled up to his face, eyes still wild and desperate. “You can’t take them from me.”

All at once, Mary was at Bert’s side again, a hand on his arm. “Darling…” She tugged weakly at his jacket sleeve. She knew- likely better than even he did- that Yen was right. In a way, she always had. Every part of her wanted what was best for him, and it was time to let the easy path go. “Bert.” She said his name softly, almost in a whisper. “He’s right. You must know he’s right. It’s time.”

Yen looked up slowly, and shook his head. The cats curled and snarled, all stripes and shadow, dusk and soot, talons and fangs and bright glittering eyes beneath layers of black and grey, hunched and springing.

From around Yen’s hands, fire and color whispered like smoke- It’d taken more than he liked to move him here, and the fluttering was moth like across his knuckles, pale rainbow slates of wings whispering up, and Yen whispered, “This can’t be what you want. To hide it all like this?”

“I’m not hiding!” Bert snapped, “I’m… I’m living! And… and we have all the TIME in the world!” He snapped back to Mary.

One cat hissed, fangs bared and eyes gleaming as it snapped a clawed paw at the flickering lights at the old man’s frail hands. Another crouched, ready to lunge.

Mary flinched. In all the time he had been here, he had never spoken to her with such anger… no, it was fear, at the root. She knew, and she was fairly certain he did too. Mary crouched down beside him, beckoning him to look at her. “My poor husband…” The words left her mouth in a sigh. She sniffled, and wiped a sleeve across her cheeks, trying to rid herself of tears. “You know I am not her. Not really. I only wish I could be.”

That finally made the man hesitate, the tigers both giving a snarl of their own accord even as their creator’s eyes darted to his chalk-drawn wife, his breathing quickening again in deep gasps, “I… I know that. Of course I know that. I… that… I can’t!”

The tiger sprang, latching onto the Wizard’s arm with black sharp teeth, claws tangling in robes.

Yen Sid fell back and cried out- The colors swarmed and ran together, diving down at the large cats with a soft sigh of movement as Yen struggled to free his arm of the teeth, swatting at the claws furiously with his other arms and his robes. He managed to smear the charcoal, but it blended well with the chalk–A heavy mess.

Mary barely acknowledged the scene before her. Her eyes remained on Bert for a moment longer, before she leaned in and wrapped her arms tightly around him. A hand wandered to smooth his hair. She wondered- was that something she really did in life, or was it simply something he wished? She whispered lowly, “It’s time to let go of me… of her. She was alone for so long, but she never stopped trying. She would be heartbroken to see the man you have become. Please, darling. It’s time.”

“I d-don’t want to… I can’t… it’s.. it’s always been for you,” He managed to find his words between shuddering deep breaths, arms wrapping tightly around her.

The creatures, smudged and contorted in Yen’s attempts to fend them off had run together, orange and black turning to muddy brown and shadows, shoulders knitting, limbs twisting as it roared, rolling back to try to gather itself up for a fresh attack.

She shook her head gently. “No… it’s always been for you.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

Yen pulled back and there was a great flutter- Torn and tired, the spell he had used to return him to the cottage had turned 'round and fought back, large and swooping over the brownish shadows, flickering them with light and peppering them with color. Yen gripped his arm with his better, and staggered back, muttering under his breath- The butterfly strengthened slowly, shimmering with a pale light as it dove down into the blur of catshadows.

As the colors swarmed against the shadows, Bert seemed to break, and with him, the charcoal beasts in a scattering of dark, muddy dust around them. He couldn’t let her go, didn’t dare let her go, didn’t dare face the crumbling reality around them. It was all too heavy, too painful to bear.

He never liked complicated, but that was exactly what he was facing.

Yen coughed in the dust but stood shakily, leaning hard on the staff. He peered through the growing gloom across at Mary and Bert, but made his way forward with careful, aching steps. He wiped at his eyes and stood a few feet away, shoulders hunched and silent for a long moment, before he lifted his voice, “You know she’s not the sort who’s ever to really, truly leave us. I suspect,” He broke for a bout of coughing before he continued, “That may be why this was so… effective.”

Bea sat on the floor sobbing nearby, and Mary pulled her toward them. She was certain she was never going to see Albert again. Not at this point. She had to keep reminding herself that this life was false. It was hard to maintain that thinking, while clutching a little girl that looked so much like the perfect combination of them both. But the little girl wasn’t real. Neither was she.

But what Yen Sid said made her question that. For just a moment, she wondered if she did possess a part of the real Mary Poppins, if she was real in spirit, perhaps. She refused to let herself dwell on it though. For now, she would just hold on for as long as she could.

Bert couldn’t move, could barely breath and concentrated on that as he held his wife and daughter, brain spinning as he tried to sift through what was happening but it was too much- he was drowning, deep under the waters of Emotion and Facts and Complications, and no amount of struggling could pull him out of it. He was beyond tears - retreating deep into a place where even the reality he had created and was now falling apart around them couldn’t touch him.

One thing managed to get through to him - the distant smell of chalk dust.

Yen sneeze and grimaced- He’d never been good with dust. Wiping at his face he smeared a variety of colors across it and sighed. He stooped slightly, counting his breaths, then spoke again, mostly to himself: “She was always one to linger…”

He rubbed his chin beneath his beard, and murmured, “Once I’d come home to find she’d fixed my cufflinks, brewed a pot of tea, and dusted half the place…”

He chuckled, then stopped, and shook his head, looking around what remained of the room, cast in gray shadow and hulking forms. He crossed to the mantle and stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in alarm: He hadn’t heard the girl weeping, and his stomach lurched slightly. He turned sharply, and peered at her as if confused, and murmured,

“Now– What’s this? None of that. None of that will do…”

Tutting, he walked over and knelt, fussing around in his sleeve for a moment, muttering, “Got one of 'em in here someplace-”

He removed a flowery kerchief, and very, very carefully, put it at Mary’s feet. He raised a brow,

“I can’t lift it. Won’t do that- Don’t know what it’ll do here. It was yours, though- Er. Left it when we had tea..Ages ago. Meant to give it back.”

Mary eyed the handkerchief ominously. He said it had belonged to her, and the fact that it looked completely foreign only served to cement the fact that she was not her. She lifted the handkerchief with utmost care. As she turned it over in her hands, she found her fingertips fading.

Yen looked alarmed and his eyes widened- He swallowed hard and pulled back slightly, voice lowering to a bare whisper, “You don’t have to take it-”

She remained where she was, staring at her hands, oddly ghostlike in their transparency. “Is this what is to become of everything? Of us?”

“Not– necessarily,” Murmured Yen. He shrugged softly, “There are always memories, always songs. You know that,” He added, quite kindly. His face wrinkled into a sad, distant smile as he shifted, “No one ever truly forgets Mary Poppins, after all. Real or imaginary, my dove.”

He reached out and patted her hand gently, and glanced back to Bert, “But no one can live in the what-may-have-beens, either. You-” He turned to Bea, and softened visibly, “Are a remarkable, dear thing. He will remember you, and I shall too– But I cannot allow him to settle in false daylight forever. It’s like..” He blinked, tired, and exhaled softly, “It’s like keeping a bird in a cage. You may paint it as many backdrops as you please, bring it sticks and berries, and it may sing for as long as it’s there, but it’s nothing to the open air, the wind, the rain. It has short flights, and will fall hard. No one needs to be caged, even a cage of their own making. It’s hardly living. There are sights worth seeing, things worth hearing, places worth being–”

He swallowed, and murmured, “And people to truly remember. If one man holds all the memories, where will stories come from? Who will children turn too when the wind changes? When there’s a kite above or an umbrella passing through the sky, the stamp of sweeps or cathedrals with birds aplenty, there will be Mary Poppins, as long as there is someone to help tell her stories, to hum the old things she’d hum..”

He shrugged, and grimaced as his arm pained him. With a ragged sigh, he shook his head, “I cannot spread them alone. I’m barely likable. But your…Father, my dear.” He raised a brow, “He may be annoying, but he’s got a bit of that old glint, the twinkle. I suspect he could rouse a jolly holiday or two.” He paused, then added flatly, “Though I think the world would be fine without the penguins.”

Bert said nothing, his eyes distant, his shoulders still trembling as he tried to focus on the handkerchief, movements stiff and mechanical up until her hands started to fade.  A choked noise left his throat, hand reaching up to try to hold her fingers, but there was just the whisper of feeling, the memory of fingers where a whole hand wasn’t there any more. “I can’t…” He finally wheezed, and the tears finally came silently down his cheeks.

Yen exhaled carefully, and murmured, “But you already have,” He glanced side-long to Bert, and raised a brow, “Remembering her like this, for yourself, keeping her hidden away? Is it that much different from her… erasure?”

“It’s… it’s n-not like that!” His voice was hoarse, eyes shifting from wild to terrified to pleading.

Mary’s hands tensed, afraid to touch him as he cried so freely. Surely that would speed things up a bit too much for her liking. Yen’s words startled her. In a way, wasn’t it true? She knew she was a shadow of the woman she was supposed to be. If she was somehow an idealized version, then wasn’t he in a sense, ridding himself of memories of any flaws she might have? “He’s right…”

This moment of betrayal made Bert hesitate, gaze drawn back to her face- but as much as his mouth moved and sputtered, he couldn’t argue. He couldn’t find the words to defend himself. He didn’t want this to end.

With great pains, Yen moved his other hand to cover Bert’s, and squeezed it lightly. He nodded gently and murmured, “You aren’t completely alone, m'lad.”

Bert flinched at the touch, but didn’t lash out. His eyes remained locked on Mary and Bea. Gently, he picked up the still softly crying young girl, sitting back to balance her on his knee. He kissed her forhead, ran his finger along her braids. “You… you take care of your mother, alright? And Albert too.” He whispered.

Mary watched, touching the top of Bea’s head, and Bert said some parting words. This was the right course of action. It was right, and it was best for him. So why did she feel so ill? When he had set their daughter down, she reached for his hand, and pulled him up with her. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

Yen set back uncomfortable, and frowned, rubbing at his eyes. His hands shook slightly and he frowned further at himself, willing strength and the constant irritability that got him through everything else, but Mary’s voice and the silent parting tore at him.

He couldn’t remember if he’d ever said goodbye, himself– Certainly Bert had, hadn’t he?

Was the second one as hard as the first, or harder? He didn’t know, and felt as though he were invading at long last. That had been his intention, and part of him felt it was… wrong yet, but– No man can live in a cage.

Bert refused to say it. He simply leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. “Never goodbyes. Don’t like goodbyes,” He whispered into her hair.

She held him tightly, resting her head on his chest. “Neither did she.” Mary pulled back then, and leaned in to kiss him one last time. When she pulled away, she stroked his cheek with her faded hand, and smoothed his hair. “I love you. And so did she. I know, because you know.”

Yen cleared his throat and stood, moving away. Times like these were private, after all- No need to be intrusive. He glanced back in the shuffled, and sighed softly. He had warned him, but no warnings can prepare a person for the… finality of things.

He spun the staff in his hand quietly and traced the well-worn parrot. His lips thinned quietly, and his shoulders hunched– There was a faint tremor among them, but he kept his back to Bert firmly, and faced the wall. No reason for Bert to know, after all, and he dabbed at his face carefully and quietly. No need to mar the chalk any further with tears or such nonsense; he’d done well enough of that on his own.

Finally, Bert pulled back stiffly. “If… if… if we’re going, go now before I change me mind,” He managed, a bit more forcefully than he meant- already the doubt was back in his mind, the denial insisting that no, no, no he couldn’t part with her again, not this time, not when it was all going to be different, empty, endless… “Please.”

Mary stared at him, heartbreak written all over her face. She clutched his hands and nodded.

Yen swallowed hard and nodded, turning back quietly. He nodded to the kerchief softly, and murmured, “It’s time, then. You may borrow mine if you need it.”

Like a scorned child, Bert stared down at the hankercheif before gently taking it. He didn’t look up at Mary nor Bea, unable to bear to look them in the face as he crouched down and silently wiped away the mess of the floor, the table, the kitchen, colors smearing into gray nothingness as he moved. His expression was unreadable, eyes distant as the walls of their home vanished and he reached up to erase the sky, the world darkening around them and distantly, growing ever louder was the sound of rain. Albert’s school house was gone from sight- still existing somewhere in his imagination, he was positive, where the bright boy was happily learning about tadpoles and frogs. But she still stood there amongst the grey, still existing.

Finally, he managed to bring his eyes up to meet her face. He was stained with chalk dust, hints of gauntness and weariness creeping into his features, just hints of the man outside of the illusion barely masked with what remained of the magic.

His hand wrapped in the chalk-stained handkerchief lifted up toward her cheek, but it stopped and he pulled back, “I can’t. I can’t. Let’s just go-”

Yen exhaled softly– He had not escaped the ravages of the dust himself, following behind at a carefully measured pace, clearing bits of corners and smudges forgotten with the hem of his good sleeve, admiring quietly as he went, each step a further conquest.

He stood back now, and watched with careful, dim eyes, lingering hesitantly. Rocking on his heels, Yen was sure– This part was not his place to interfere, despite the cracking of his heart. He wanted to say no, you can’t, you shall not–

But he knew that Bert knew, and that she knew, and all the knowing filled the room with a heavy silence he daren’t break.

Mary stared at him silently, tears flowing freely now. She let out a shaky sigh, and reached for the hand holding the handkerchief, now unrecognizeable with color. Trembling, she led his hand back to her face, guiding it to wipe against her skin. Like her fingers, it looked oddly ghost-like now, like chalk that had been ground so hard into rockey cement, that only rain would fully wash it away.

He closed his eyes, letting her guide his hand, his shoulders shuddering as soon even the figures of the woman and child were soon ghostlike… nearly gone. He wanted to say something, anything, 'It’s certainly been a jolly holiday with you, Miss poppins,’ but the usually loose-tongued man found himself speechless.

His hand dropped down as he finished, and he and the wizard were now standing in the empty warehouse, surrounded by a rainbow of smeared chalk. Without the illusion clothing and cleaning him, Herbert Alfred was nearly unrecognizable.

Yen sighed softly, and stepped beside Bert. He cleared his throat, and offered his good arm, murmuring, “Would you like a hand…?”

Bert swayed, staring down at the chalk stained rags that hung from his body loosely- he had lost far too much weight. Immortal did not mean he didn’t need to eat- he just could not die of starvation. He said nothing, but pressed the floral handkerchief into Yen’s hand, taking a deep breath as he looked out at the mess that remained of what he had considered to be his final masterpiece.

He tried, after a moment, to speak, but his throat was dry, and that reminder sent the shudders up his legs and spine to his shoulders and his knees gave out, slumping to the chalk smeared floor.

“Oh– Oh, my..” Yen’s voice was soft and he knelt almost immediately, ignoring the pain– There was a rush of hand movement and a sparrow-like shade of light whispered through the air, clearing away some of the remnants as it went, silent and warm. The building had some windows– Far and few- but long painted over, dusted and small along the top walls. The sparrow moved in whispers and cleared away the dust and small whirls of paint as it went, letting beams of light filter through with dust motes spinning wildly. In the growing light Yen noticed the disparity of the place, and shifted uncomfortably– Had Bert even noticed? He was worried he hadn’t. If he had fallen or hurt himself, even in the chalk world that overlaid the real, would he have remained there in his silence forever–

He shuddered. He hadn’t wanted to consider that. He had thought all the other reality was worse, but had he arrived to that.. It was hardly something he could think about without his stomach churning.

Carefully, he moved his hand to Bert’s shoulder, and squeezed. There was a moment’s drawn silence, before the old man sighed and drew Bert in to his arm and held him for a moment, voice soft and as gentle as he could manage, “Let’s get you into the sunlight. Do you need me to carry you? I can find a way.”

The broken man in the wizard’s arm said nothing, his eyes distant behind the mop of hair, long, long overdue for a trim. The tangle of beard moved slightly as though he attempted words, but the failed him as he used the old man for support to get back to his feet.

He drew in a deep breath, eyes scanning the dancing swirls of color as the whisper of birds tidied his work away. It had been magnificent. His best work ever. And just like the majority of his artwork, temporary. Lips pursed, a shrunken, shaking hand slipped into the inside pocket of his worn corduroy jacket and pulled out the patched and faded cap inside before somehow managing to place it on his head with what dignity he had left.

Yen looked up at the bird, and retrieved it as it landed, vanishing into a shower of soft sparks. He glanced to Bert and rose carefully, nodding warmly. It was a start, if it was anything.

Crossing the room, Yen moved to hold open the door and blinked in the sunlight. He had no way of knowing how long they’d been gone but the day was bright beyond the doors.

Bert moved as though in a dream. These tired limbs couldn’t be his. This suit caked with dust couldn’t be on him. His skin too pale and thin, eyes too sensitive as he stepped out into the light, and immediately whimpered and staggered backward like a frightened wild animal- which wasn’t so far from what he looked like. He tried again, this time with his eyes shut, and stood outside the abandoned doorway until his eyes could stand staying open.

He stared up at the sky that felt surreal to him. It couldn’t be a proper sky. It was too grey, too bright. The colors of everything was wrong. Empty. It was empty out here.

His mouth tried to form words again, moving with a hoarse murmur under his breath, but didn’t quite make it to comprehensibility.

Yen glanced over in concern, and nodded softly. He exhaled quietly,

“It looks… dreary. And it is cold. But the sun will come on out again. I’ve seen a great many rainy days, m'lad, but- The sunny ones much outnumber them. It will take time, but..”

He shrugged, and nodded to a patch of ivy crawling slowly over the outer door frame, “Color will find a way through.”

There was a brief pause and he stepped out, turning back to hold his hand out to Bert, when he noticed something. The wind had been soft, but was picking up now, and far above them on an adjacent building the creaking of an iron weather vane met his ears. He smiled, though sadly, and murmured, “Would you look at that? Even the wind– The wind is changing.”

Bert wobbled, glassy eyes picking up to the dim, unreal trees as their dancing leaves switched direction. “S-ss…” He swallowed, “Supercalifragalisticexpialidocious,” He finally managed with an odd sound that may have been a laugh, might have been a sob.

“Yes,” murmured Yen, carefully, and squinted up into the sky. The lazy tail of a kite passing overhead made his heart skip a beat, but it passed over trees and rooftops out of sighting. He nodded gently, and murmured, “Supercalifragalisticexpialidocious. What else did she used to say..?”

Bert’s eyes locked on the kite like a predator that hadn’t eaten in years locked onto prey. He exhaled a shuddering breath, wading through the ache in his mind that kept insisting he shut down. “Spoon… fulla’ sugar.” His voice broke, having trouble with volumes above a whisper.

Yen nodded softly, and added, “She told me once you’d said something. A step… in time? We could do that, too. Just– Perhaps one step, at one time.” He held out his hand carefully, and waited, internally praying for the man to take it. It’d just be… one step.

They could manage it then. One step at a time.

One step at a time. Time to step. Follow the wizard, step in time. His legs obeyed, albeit shakily. How long… how long had he been in there. Where had the chalk world began and ended. All of the paintings were connected. The world was dust, people were dust, chalk was dust, wasn’t chalk people.

He took Yen’s arm, both unsteady but somehow steadier with the other to lean on.

If chalk were people, he had just… all of them gone. Children that never had a chance to exist. Dust in the wind of a bird’s wing. He’d drawn dozens of birds. Hundreds. More than he could count over the years. He liked drawing birds.

The wind was changing. She wasn’t coming back. He could feel the emptiness down into his bones.

Yen lifted his chin slightly, and nodded. He murmured. “Wind’s coming in.” He shut his eyes briefly and breathed in, smelling the cool air, the changing season, the oncoming rain. He swallowed hard, “I think–”

He was interrupted then, by a woman walking by with two children in tow. He blinked, startled. For a moment– No. The likeness vanished, but their voices carried: “Now, your father’s hired a very sensible woman–”

“Is she anything like your Nanny?”

“Oh- Heavens, no. No one could have been quite like her, darling.”

“What was she like?”

“Well… She was–”

The little boy, who had been silent, chimed in quietly, his voice ringing with the expectant hope that comes only from the retelling of a story a hundred times, the wonder of a world where things were still magic, the tireless excitement of a lad who waited every night by the window, just in case the wind were to change…  "Practically perfect!“

The woman nodded and stopped, looking up at the sky. The clouds were parting slowly, and she nodded carefully, voice soft, "Yes. In.. In every way.”

The wind picked up across their feet, and Yen blinked in surprise. Petals rolled across the toes of his shoes and he held his breath for a moment as the small family gathered themselves, their voices fading away, “Now tell us about the chimney man!”

“The Chimney Sweep, my dear! Why, he used to say…”

Yen glanced sidelong, and the family walked away, 'round a corner. He hadn’t heard what he had used to say, for they were gone and his ears were not as good as they used to be, but he spoke with a slow and careful measure,

“It seems … some things linger. And,” He cleared his throat, trying to keep the emotion from catching in his voice, and failing as he looked away quickly and his words were mottled quick with sorrow– And just, perhaps, a spoonful of hope: “And there’s always a need for… the chimney sweep. Someone’s got to look up at the stars for us that can’t see 'em. Tell me, Bert–” He swallowed hard and didn’t bother to wipe the tears trickling into his beard, staring straight ahead and above with a fierce determination, “Did they ever shine so bright?”

It had taken a little while longer for the nearby voices to penetrate Bert’s disjointed thoughts, but as the flower petals kicked over his shoes, reality focused on that small gesture, the smell of wind and rain on flowers. His heart aching violently, threatening to strangle his stomach and squeeze his lungs, “It’s… it’s my fault. It’s my fault.”

Drop to the pavement, step in time.

His knees gave again, and he thankfully slipped from Yen’s arm before he slumped to the sidewalk and failed to drag the old man down with him.

“None of that!” Yen snapped, then immediately felt guilty. His heart cracked and he grimaced, moving to pick the man back up with as much delicacy as one would help up an injured child, and he lowered his voice, “No– None of that. There are no faults of yours here. Of anyone-” He swallowed and looked Bert in the eye, “She lived a long, full, loving life.”

He shook his head, “Any fault you may have had would be that I had never, young man, seen her happier– In all her many, many days than I had with you. Nobles and kings couldn’t lift a candle to the way the Chimney Sweep dazzled her with those stars of his.”

His own beard was damp as he stared into the old man’s eyes as though hypnotized, brows flickering as he tried to remember how to gauge if Yen was speaking the truth or not.  As far as Herbert could tell, there was no doubt in Yen’s mind.  "What… what do I do now?“ He whispered. "M'not like her.”

“No,” Yen said, gently. He shrugged, “Few people are, and most of them I can’t stand because they’re not– Well,” He raised a brow, but continued, “But you, Bert? My boy-” He took a deep breath, and looked up, “Beauty like that that you created doesn’t come from just anywhere. You’ve a rare gift, and she saw it in you the moment she met you, I’m sure. Did I ever tell you you were the only one she talked to me about at length? And it was always good. Never a poor word for you. That’s how I knew,” He cleared his throat, “You’re something else entirely. And that’s good. The world needs something else now and again– A man who can do almost anything, but does.. What makes him and those around him happy.” He shrugged, “She met a lot of selfish men. You weren’t one of 'em.”

That wasn’t entirely an answer… but it was a step Bert could understand, words he could hold onto. It didn’t cure the pain, but it shifted the mental fog, settled his aching mind, and after a few moments of remembering how to breath evenly, he carefully pulled himself to his feet again.

“Raspberry cakes,” He whispered.

Yen nodded, and sighed in relief. He gave Bert a careful smile, “Absolutely.”

Bert nodded as well, as though that settled everything.

Follow the wizard, step in time.

Find your footing, step in time.

Keep moving forward, step in time.

Things would be easier, with some time.

He could only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was inspired by a question we both had, when thinking about the future of our characters. "What would happen, if Bert became immortal, and Mary Poppins found a way to undo her own immortality?"


End file.
